Table B
by MS-Manuscript
Summary: 25 LJ prompts. So many aspects of life. Friendship, love, pain. At this rate Billy was going to be deaf by thirty. God, why did his train of thought always have to change from one to the other so quickly!
1. Lively

Notes: doing a LiveJournal prompt thing. Chapters will focus on different characters, and will be both in universe and out of universe. They will not connect with each other. Characters belong to Joss Whedon, Jed Whedon, Zack Whedon, and Maurissa Tancharoen. Not me. Story line does though.

Chapter 1 notes: Billy, Moist, rating K, Friendship/General.

1: Lively

There was a bounce in Billy's step as he entered their apartment, laundry basket on his hip and his ear-buds in his ears. Moist looked up from his magazine, watching the young man hop around as he stored the basket and clothes away before doing a few chores around the house as the music blasted his ears. It was always so loud. At this rate Billy was going to be deaf by thirty. Moist ought to know, he was older than his boss. Wasn't he? In all actuality, he had no idea how old Billy was. They had never celebrated his birthday. They had done things for Moist's but never for Billy's. God, why did his train of thought always have to change from one to the other so quickly?! Sighing, Moist knew he wouldn't be able to stop thinking until he got some kind of answer. So he tossed his booklet aside and stood, reaching out to pluck the ear-buds away from his friend.

Confused and slightly startled, Billy pulled the other out of his right ear and blinked at his friend. They stood, sizing each other up for a moment, trying to figure out what the other one was about. Billy finally pressed the button of his self-made music player, turning it off. It looked suspiciously like a chap-stick.

"Question for you."

"Answer for you." Billy always had smart comebacks, they kind of annoyed Moist. But he had the kid's attention he might as well use it.

"How old are you?"

"What?"

"How old are you?"

"Um, twenty two next month."

"WHAT?!"

"What's up Moist?"

"We've lived in the same apartment for three years, and you're only twenty one?! That means, that means you've been fighting Hammer since you were eighteen!"

"Seventeen."

"What?"

"I was seventeen when he hit me."

"…"

"…_WHAT_?!"

"Okay, you and I need to talk." The henchman dragged his boss to the couch, crashing on it and pulling him down. Billy was so confused, where had this come from?

"Okay." Moist started up again, eyelevel with Billy. Billy had never seen his friend so serious before. "Spill."

"Spill what?"

"Everything."

"Where should I start?"

"Anywhere."

Moist learned more about Billy that day than he had the day he cut his friend's hair. Billy had started college at age sixteen, going to community college for his generals. He graduated high school at seventeen. He had his first Ph.D. at eighteen.

He had started taking on Hammer the week he got out of school. He was wearing Dr. Horrible since he was fourteen. Fourteen. In high school, a sophomore, dressing up in boots smock and goggles, taking on Catmask and Jeckers and who knew how many other heroes. He'd leave school after sixth period, after being there since six in the morning for zero period, and he'd go and rob banks and science stores so he could build his ray guns. Then he'd go to night-classes and online classes and weekend classes… in _high school_.

And drinking at the White Flag, in _high school_. That surprised Moist more than the fighting the source of "good" in junior year. No, Moist was surprised that Billy had made a fake I.D. and had been drinking at seventeen. At the White Flag, the hero/villain bar, the one place that heroes and villains could sit and talk and drink together, strict non-fighting policy… Billy, able to drink and get away with it. Guess it was a teen thing.

After going from scotch and soda to straight rum one night (the strong spirits surprised Moist as well) and waking up in Hammer's place with a massive hang-over, the teen had sworn off the drink. He never touched alcohol again. And here he was, finally of legal age, only twenty two (next month) and he was more established than any other villain in L.A. (minus the ELE, after all, they were the best of the best in the _world_.).

Moist watched as Billy walked away. The bounce was still in his walk, the music was back on, the apartment being cleaned. Shaking his head, Moist wished for a better life than the one Billy ended up with; he would have been the life of the party with chicks hanging all over him in school if he wasn't such a nerd.


	2. Remorseful

Chapter notes: Billy, Penny, Rating T, Angst/romance/friendship. You'll see this chapter come back again in another fiction of mine, with some minor changes. Sorry for the spoiler. CONTEST! I'll write some one-shot in dedication to, and with the prompt of, the person that can guess which other fiction it'll be seen in. Basically, guess right, and you tell me what to write. Have fun.

* * *

2: Remorseful

She didn't close her eyes. She just kind of… stopped moving.

"Captain Hammer will save us." And he couldn't take his eyes off her. How could she?! She knew who he was now, had heard what kind of a person Hammer was. He had had a little watch-monitor under his gloves and he was watching the live broadcast under the blanket, timing his entrance. He had seen her get up and leave. He had seen her reaction to Hammer's insults and admission to doing _it_. And still, she stood by him. And then-

And then…

She just stopped. Billy felt his own heart stop. No, no Penny! Come on, she was going to be okay, she was, she was-… oh god. Oh god. She…

He couldn't look her in the eye anymore. It was a gaze that he knew could now see through him perfectly. She knew everything now. Everything. Billy wasn't a religious person. He wasn't the kind of man to go to church, or to temple, or to mass, or to any such nonsense. He didn't pray, he didn't think anything of a three letter word that most the world held so reverently. But just now, in this second in time, he sent up a plea.

'Don't take her from me.'

It went unheard. As all pleas from those on the path of death destruction and pain did. He was evil, and good did not listen to evil; just look at Hammer. Because Hammer did not listen to him, and because of that Penny was-

Penny was…

He looked at her again, just as the flashes started and the questions came. Why had he-

Why had he…

Billy stood, not knowing what to do. He had to run, his brain was telling him to fly, to get out of there. This wasn't his mess, he didn't create it. Go, just go. In response, his legs sent him out of his crouch. But his heart found its beat again, sending him back to the floor, finding his face so very very close to Penny's. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to show her how much he loved her. Show the _world_ how much he loved her. Instead, he reached up a gloved hand, and closed her eyes. Such beautiful eyes. They were dark, a nice green that worked with her hair. Billy wished he was poetic, wished he could say they were like leaves, or like emeralds, or something expensive and wonderful and green. But they were just green. There was nothing special about Penny's eyes. They didn't have a extraordinary sparkle to them to remind him of gems. They didn't have flecks of lighter color in them to say they were living breathing beings in her face. They were plain, simple, green. They were uncomplicated. They were just like Penny. She was a girl of easy choices, easy wants. They were without the flashy gaudy verbs and adjectives. They were just eyes. And that's what made them beautiful. She didn't need makeup, she didn't need contacts, she didn't need the glamour other women thought they had to have to make themselves beautiful. She had her own simple style. And he has his own simple love.

And now they were gone. There was no life in them. So he closed them. Billy slid his arms around her, easing her off the cold ground. She didn't belong on the ground, hard, cold, uncaring. She was kind, warm, soft, sweet… no, she didn't belong anywhere near the ground. She didn't belong with the dead.

She was on the gurney, and gone. Just like that. Moist came up to Billy, putting a soft hand on his back.

"Doc…" Billy had been silent since Penny had uttered the words that killed him. 'Captain Hammer will save us.' He hadn't said a word. Moist steered him away from the reporters, away from the mass of people. Moist got him into Pink's car, sitting with him in the back. They got away rather easily; the world seemed to be in the same shock Billy was. On the drive back home, Billy didn't move, he didn't speak. Moist wasn't even sure he was breathing. At a red the henchman actually put his fingers to Billy's neck to make sure there was a pulse. He found one. Barley, but he found one.

Barely? But Doc hadn't been hurt…?

Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god. Moist understood, better than he wanted too. He hated having to do this, he really did.

He slapped Billy.

"DOC!" Pink glanced in the mirror, unsure how to help. Billy didn't respond. Moist slapped him again. "Doc come on!" Dead eyes, ones that should have been on Penny, met his own.

"Yes Moist?" There was no life in the voice either.

"…Doc?" Billy looked straight ahead again, seemingly unfazed by the bruise that was forming on his face.

"I'm in the League now."

"Uh-huh."

And he didn't talk the rest of the ride. Moist fumbled with the key, Billy simply watching him like it happened every day. It did, but that was beside the point. The door swung open, and Billy walked through, head high, into the kitchen.

Where he leaned over the sink and vomited.

_There_ was the Billy Moist knew!


End file.
